


The Price of Growing Up

by datbenik513



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Gen, Multi, Other, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22477720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datbenik513/pseuds/datbenik513





	1. Chapter 1

"...Harry Potter..."

Have you ever seen a place where more than a half thousand teen-aged people are crammed together eating the most exquisite foods they have ever tasted in their lives turn dead silent in the matter of a few milliseconds? Because, I swear on Merlin's withered whiskers, it was all it took when Dumbledore, after only a short second of hesitation, uttered my name, turning around the battered piece of parchment he was holding in his hands several times.

It was only a minute after I had stood and applauded together with three of the four Houses when the Goblet had spat out the name of our resident womanizer – otherwise a pretty decent guy – Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts Champion. It was 45 seconds after I had grabbed Ron's collar in order to prevent him from making a fool of himself once again, as Bouillabaisse Girl a.k.a. Fleur Delacour, the drop-dead gorgeous part-Veela Beauxbatons champion had risen graciously from her spot beind the Ravenclaw table, the piece of parchment containing her name just having landed in Dumbledore's hand. It was mere 30 seconds after Slytherin table had burst into ovations as the rising Bulgarian Quidditch star, Viktor Krum, had secured his position among the Champions.

30 seconds of utter and sheer madness... and then, said complete silence. I couldn't help but wonder it it was the same kind of silence Neil Armstrong had experienced on the Moon after having made that historic step.

"Harry Potter!"

It's kind of hard to ignore one's name being called out in not-so-dulcet tones by He-who-has-too-many-titles-altogether, so I slowly stood. Five hundred different faces, five hundred different emotions on them. Pain and incredulity radiating from Hermione's chocolate brown eyes. Disbelief etched onto the beautiful faces of our resident Indian twins gracing Ravenclaw table with their presence tonight. The ever-present smirk mixed with a glorious amount of curiosity – yeah, you already guessed, the Prince of Slytherin.

By now, my remaining brain cells had duly registered something utterly and completely having gone haywire and made a not-even-so-shocking discovery. Ladies and gentlemen, as of this moment, I hereby re-baptise the Tri-wizard tournament into Quad-wizard tournament; the Quad being yours truly, Harry James Potter, the Boy-who-had-just-been-royally-screwed.

Of course I hadn't put my name into that fucking goblet. Why would I? Here I was, minding my own business and hoping for a relatively calm school year and a chance to hit on that gorgeous fifth-year Ravenclaw of Chinese origin and maybe grab a chance or two for some educative snogging sessions in a broom closet, thank you very much. Having had at least one near-death experience per year in my first three years, I was really looking forward to it. But no, someone just had to screw it for me and to put me up for the Tournament. Anyway, no time for self-pity, I had to get out of this situation as soon and unharmed as possible. My head was spinning around as I dove into some older memories of mine, memories of a night under the full moon in the Shrieking Shack.

_"I, Sirius Orion Black swear on my life and magic," my mass-murderer Godfather intones clearly , "that I wasn't the Secret Keeper behind the Fidelius Charm cast by Albus Dumbledore to hide the Potter family. I swear that said Secret Keeper was Peter Pettigrew. I also swear that I haven't betrayed the Potters' whereabouts to You-know-who. So say I, so mote it be!"_

_All of us present in the Shack – Ron, whimpering from the pain in his broken leg, Hermione, her hand in mine, whom I have been shielding with my body from the ex-guest of Hotel Azkaban, Remus, training his own wand on Pettigrew – witness the brief flash encapsulating Sirius' body. Nodding satisfiedly, the battered wizard raises my holly-and-phoenix wand again and mutters "Lumos", then, as the tip of the wand lights up, "Nox"._

_"Harry needed to have been made sure, Moony," he grins, showing off the level of dental care he had been receiving during his 12-year long stay in the penthouse of the island hotel._

_"Mr. Black," the trembling voice of Hermione interjects, "what would have happened to you if you had lied?" I swear the Hat had been piss-drunk while sorting her. She's channeling her Ravenclaw even at the wand-tip of an escaped convict, for fuck's sake!_

_"Stripped of my magic, then died. Or died, then stripped of my magic. Pick one, girlie," his eyes are ablaze again as he turns to the rat and points my wand between Pettigrew's eyes._

Right-o, one Wizarding Oath coming up! Inspiration stroke when the silence broke and turned into a cacophony again, albeit a slightly different kind.

"Well done, Harry!" One of the twins – I still mix them up every time – clapped me on my shoulder.

"It can't be! He hasn't done it!" Hermione's eyes filled with genuine tears.

"C'est impossible!" Our Beauxbaton guests were equally shocked. I would bet the deed to Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Sussex on the hunch that all of them, even the barely 9-10 year old girly sitting next to the spot Fleur had just vacated dreamed about getting into the Tournament.

"Dead man walking, Potter!" It must have been Goyle; Crabbe hadn't been able to master English to such depths until the age of fourteen.

"Cheater!" Now, now, Ron... Where does this crock of shit come from?

"HARRY POTTER!"

Honestly, do you have to show off with your " **Sonorus** " charm? My ears are still ringin, dammit! Think, Potter, think!

"You have forgotten my middle name, Headmaster," I spat back, my remaining brain cells working over-hours. "What can I do for you?"

"Will you please follow the other champions into the antechamber and wait for us there?"

So, you are firmly set on having me compete in your bloody Tournament, you whiskered goat-fucker? "No, I will not please, Headmaster," I spoke clearly, walking up to the dais where said wanker stood nursing what – I hoped - without a doubt would be a Saturnus-sized headache pretty soon. Drawing my wand, I turned to the public, successfully suppressing the urge to take a deep bow.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic..."

"No, Harry!" Bless you, Hermione, I love you dearly, but shut up once in your life, will you? I got it... I guess, and if I don't, well... fuck!

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic," I raised my wand toward the enchanted ceiling, "that I haven't had any intentions of competing in the Triwizard Tournament and haven't put my name into the Goblet. I also swear that I haven't asked any other person to put my name into the Goblet. The person to have done so has acted without my agreement and against my will. So say I, so mote it be."

Here it comes...

The sudden, blinding white flash encapsulated me, then disappeared. I released the breath I wasn't even aware of holding back. I was alive, a good sign indeed. Well, only one way to find out...

" **Nox Maxima** , motherfuckers!" I yelled, and suddenly all light in the Great Hall disappeared, releasing a second wave of sheer chaos into the crown. Silently hoping that my trembling legs wouldn't give in, I watched as here and there a feeble light would come into existence – **Lumos** charms - until the light returned – a wandless and silent **Finite** , most probably the Headmaster showing off again.

"Mr. Potter..." he started again, but I continued ignoring him. "Ronald Weasley," I called out to my now ex-friend. "A word, if you please."

For a moment I felt as if I were standing on the scene of a Broadway theatre at the premiere of "The Cats". Three years of being continuously and unwillingly standing in the spotlights does that to people.

The carrot-head slowly stood, clearly not understanding what I was up to. Neither was I, sorry to admit, but I had to make my point.

"Mr. Weasley," I spoke in a deliberately low, yet sharp voice. "A few moments ago you accused me of cheating my way into the Tournament and lying about it, isn't that correct?"

"Well..." he stuttered, flushing bright red and nervously wringing his hands, "it's not like that..."

"It's like **what** , you back-stabbing bastard? Did you pronounce the word 'cheater' or was it a product of my delirious imagination, yes or no?" I was on a roll; three years of pent-up frustration pouring out onto one unlucky Weasley. None of that was his fault, but that 8-inch blade he'd just stabbed me with came in the fucking worst moment in my entire life, so he had to pay. The rest who had landed me in this situation would come later, of course.

Now I had the complete attention of the Great Hall. Almost.

"I have taken a Wizarding Oath, Weasley, and I haven't lost my life or magic, either. That means that I wasn't lying when I said that I hadn't entered myself into the Tournament. By calling me a cheater, you insulted my family and, according to the Old Laws, I - the Scion of House Potter - have the right to challenge you to a honour duel."

I stood, my eyes locking onto Hermione's and giving her a barely perceptible wink, until the miniature chaos caused by my last words slowly died down. She gave a small, nervous smile in return, yet she seemed to be genuinely put off by all that had happened in the past few minutes. She and I, we would have a talk later. She'd be scolding my head off my shoulders, I would try to explain to her why I had to do what I'd done... that is if I survive the coming few minutes.

"Ten galleons says Weasley kills Potter out of mercy so that he wouldn't have to disgrace himself in the tournament." The Slytherin table burst into laughter; of course, the intermezzo went unpunished as usual.

"Professor... Snape, if I may impose on your kindness as to officiating?" I turned around with a broad smile, making eye contact with the Greasy Bat.

"Enough of this, Mr. Potter. Do as you've been told and join the other champions," the twinkle disappeared from Dumbledore's eyes.

"Headmaster, I have no intentions of doing so. I don't know where you've been the past few minutes, but I've just proven that I cannot be considered part of this ridiculous tournament. Let me spell it out for you: **I AM NOT A CHAMPION AND WILL NOT COMPETE**." I turned back to Snape. "For three years you have been accusing me of being an attention-seeking brat, a celebrity and whatnot. For three years you haven't been able to put aside the childish grudges you may or may not still be feeling towards my long-dead father. Professor, Christmas comes early this year; I'm sorry that I had to seek attention to prove my right. As an additional bonus, you may watch as two of your least favourite students will try to sweep the floor with each other and, if you are lucky one or even both may turn up dead. So, will you participate in the fun?"

Snape pressed his jaws together, his glare drilling holes in me. "Thought so," I nodded, turning to Flitwick. "Professor, I always considered you with the deepest respect. Due to your decades of expertise in this field, it is with the same respect that I request you arbitrate my honour duel with Mr. Ronald Weasley."

"Mr. Potter," the diminutive Professor rose. "It pains me immensely to say so, but I recognize your right as Challenger and I will be honoured to officiate."

"Filius," McGonagall interjected in a voice full disbelief. "Surely you don't think that two of my Lions should blast each other to smithereens because Weasley's tongue is faster than his brain cells?"

Flitwick nodded sadly. "Before I answer your question, Minerva, please take a second to think why one of your Lions, Mr. Potter had decided to turn to me in this matter and not to you, his Head of House? Every year before the Sorting Ceremony you tell the first years that their house will be something like their family within Hogwarts. Now, it seems to me that you have been doing your utmost to contradict yourself and, when it comes down to your own Lions, you are doing a darn good job of forgetting your own words." He grinned, flashing his pointed teeth – some of the more faint-hearted might have called his grin a nightmare - and his Goblin blood silently enjoyed the shocked expression on McGonagall's face as the truth started to sink in.

"Very well," he nodded, hopping off his chair and walking toward us. "Albus, scoot off, be a good boy," he nonchalantly waved his wand, putting up a perimeter ward with a 15-feet diameter around himself and me. "Mr. Weasley, if you please."

Fred and George, book-ending Ron, grabbed him under his arms and swiftly delivered him into the center of the circle. Fred – at least I thought it was him – winked at me, then, quite unexpectedly, went down on one knee in front of me, George swiftly following his example.

"Mr. Potter, Sir..."  
"...please grant your humble servants..."  
"... a tiny request of..."  
"...not hurting our brother too much..."  
"...while teaching him good manners..."  
"...otherwise there will be not much left for us..."  
"...to continue his education..."  
"...and to further utilize his sorry arse as our, rather unwilling, I must say..."  
"...test subject for our newest range of school-skivving product line..."

On contrary to the perspective of the massive headache I knew surely would be coming after having to endure the twin-pong, I grinned. "Rise, good people," I dismissed them with a mock theatrical gesture, barely able to contain the roaring laughter any 30-second interval in the presence of the twins would never fail to induce. Flitwick wasn't as lucky, however. Shaking his head and barely able to suppress his mirth, the Professor turned to us both.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter has challenged you to a honour duel. Will you accept the challenge or will you apologize and forfeit?"

For a moment, I almost felt sorry for Carrot-head. Almost. Should he forfeit, he would publicly acknowledge of being an arsehole. Should he accept the challenge, well... it could go either way. The Gryffindor in him, however misplaced it was, won after brief contemplation – hell, I was not sure he would even know this word - and he nodded morosely, avoiding my glance. "I accept the challenge."

"The rules are as follows. This is an honour duel, so no Dark curses, no Unforgivables, no life-threatening curses or hexes are allowed. The party to resort to using such curses will be immediately disqualified and automatically declared loser. The duel will end when either or both opponents leave the circle, or when first blood has been drawn. Mr. Weasley, as the Challenged, you have the right to decide whether you choose a duel with seconds, or without."

"Pick me, Weasley, I beg you!" Yeah, I love you too, Malfoy.

"Without seconds, Professor," Ron muttered, determination is his eyes.

"Very well. Opponents, please stand with back to each other and make five steps. When done, turn facing each other, wands lowered. On my one, you bow to each other. On my two, you lower your wands again. On my three, you may cast. Terms clear?"

Having received two affirmative nods, Flitwick directed us to move away from each other as told and, when the five steps had been made, he started to count.

"One..."

I raised my wand, tip pointing at the ceiling, in a saluting gesture and bowed briefly, Ron doing the same. Never having attended a proper duel except that mockery in second year and having a more than limited repertoire of spells, I just silently hoped I would not make a fool of myself in front of 500+ students from the three leading magical schools of Europe, or at least that I would make a lesser fool of myself than Ron would make of himself. I wasn't really sure that the whole thing was such a brilliant idea, but there was no turning back. Some Gryfindow I am, throwing myself headlong into deep shit without thinking. On the other hand, in situations when said shit was hitting the proverbial fan, I could at least make sure that everyone who should be covered in a thick layer of excrement **would** be covered.

"Two..."

This is it. Damn your fucking mouth, Ronald Weasley. Three years long my best friend, sometimes even my only friend, just to sell me off like this. Haven't you learned anything about me, these past three years?

"Three..."

I instinctively ducked to the right; Ron being right-handed, I expected him to cast at my left side. Indeed, his weak **Reducto** blasted a few pebbles out of the marble floor in a harmless distance, far from my off hand side. A weak **Protego** shield deflected the rogue ones flying towards me, out of harm's way. He followed up with a second one, now aiming better, so I had to pump some more magic into the shield to reflect his curse.

Twisting the wand motion into an upward curve under a 45 degree angle, I muttered " **Aguamenti** ". The water showered Ron, soaking him to the skin, and the floor in a 6 feet circle around him, my unexpected attack breaking his concentration. I saw my opening. " **Glaceo** ". The water on the floor immediately turned to ice, Ron instinctively ducking to the left as the yellow beam of the otherwise harmless jinx soared toward him. Losing his footing from the sudden movement, he fell flat on his arse, in a wondrous manner managing to shoot a weak stunner. I had to dodge, the minute delay giving him the chance to regain his stance. He didn't attack, however, only shot a murderous glare in my direction.

"Kill him, Weasley!"

"Ten points from Slytherin, and a week detention, Mr. Malfoy." Better late than never, Professor McGonagall.

Of course, we simply had to come up with the same attack.

" **Petrificus Totalus!** "  
" **Petrificus Totalus!** "

The two jinxes met halfway, the resulting blast throwing us both off our feet. Ron stood up faster, but his wand wasn't at ready yet. Now or never. " **Homenum Leviosa**!" I cried out from my lying position, making up the incantation on the spot focusing on intent and trying to ar-ti-cu-late as good as possible. I always wanted to try this spell, after Ron's success in his unequal fight with the troll, and now I saw my chance. Sure enough, in a fracture of a second we had a fourth-year Gryffindor in the air completely at my mercy. Directing his flight, I lifted him outside the duelling ward and with a flick of my wand I broke the invisible seam of magic, causing Ron to plop back into his chair, effectively ending the duel. Now I could stood up as well, still slightly panting from the magical effort maintaining the Levitation charm on such a heavy object had taken. Damn you Weasley, you should go on a veggie diet.

"Clean fight, clean win for Mr. Potter", Flitwick announced, cancelling the wards around the duelling circle.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," I bowed to Hermione. Were it not for her nagging, I would have never got that jinx right. She got the hint, bless her soul and weakly smiled back at me, casting a murderous glare at Ron.

The reaction of the Great Hall at our tiny spectacle was mostly positive. More than a few applauses, an appreciating nod or two, but also a few boo's in my direction and a clearly disappointed "Dammit Weasley, you bloody Squib!"

"Now, if you are quite finished, Mr. Potter," the Whiskered Wanker clearly didn't get the hint yet when to give up.

"Headmaster," I spat back in the coldest voice I could muster. "I felt obliged to defend the honour of my family from the bland and unprovoked accusations of nota bene one of my own – and your former – House and, as Professor Flitwick was so kind to point out, I had every right to do so. With that out of the way, I'm afraid that the show is not over yet." From the corner of my eye I saw the three Champions, Karkarov and Maxime, as well as the representatives of the Ministry returning from the antechamber, most probably trying to figure out the reason behind the noise in the Great Hall and the delay in the evening show.

"Professor Flitwick, thank you for facilitating this duel. May your gold flow freely and your enemies tremble at your name," I turned back to the Ravenclaw Head, bowing respectfully. Even if he was surprised by the way I thanked him, he masked it expertly. "May I have one more question? Is there a way to summon... Aurors, is it? Can we summon Aurors to the castle?"

The diminutive professor nodded. "I understand where you are going, Mr. Potter. Mr. Percy Weasley, would you be so kind as to Floo-call the DMLE and request the immediate presence of a few Aurors on duty?"

Percy promptly rose from his chair and made his way towards the same antechamber without uttering a word.

"Is this completely necessary, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall inquired, clearly at a loss. "Whatever you're thinking you are doing?"

"Exactly my point, Minerva." Brilliant. Mr. Crouch woke up as well.

I briefly contemplated about my options. There were not too many of them, unfortunately; actually only one that was even remotely feasible. However, I needed the Aurors here before answering the questions, so I only glared at them without saying a word. Luckily, it took only a minute before Percy the Prat re-emerged from the antechamber in the company of a a bald black wizard, six foot six, and a rather curvaceous, young witch with bubblegum-pink hair, both wearing what must have been Auror standard robes.

"Albus," the black wizard greeted the Headmaster, giving his hand a firm shake.

"Kingsley, my friend. Good evening, young Nymphadora." Honestly, what kind of screwed-up parent could hate his child so much to name her Nymphadora? Obviously, she shared my sentiment, as her hair cycled through violet, light blue and grass green, before resuming that hideous bubblegum pink colour. How on Merlin's saggy pants did she do that?

"Erm... it's simply Tonks, professor Dumbledore..." she muttered embarrassed, examining her feet.

"Of course, Miss Tonks," Dumbledore cast his obligatory peacemaker smile at the young witch. "I am terribly sorry for disrupting what must have been a quiet evening for you, but young Mr. Potter here seems to be in need of your... services. Harry, this is Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and..."

"Good evening, Senior Auror Shacklebolt," I extended my hand to the man towering over me, silently praying that I get it back in one piece. However, he shook it in an unexpectedly gentle way. "Good evening, Mr. Potter," he rumbled in a deep bass.

"Good evening, Miss Simply Tonks," I smiled at the young woman. Once this evening had turned out the way it had turned out, I decided I could just as well have some fun out of my rather fucked-up situation. I was still running dangerously high on adrenaline, what with the tournament and my impromptu duel with Weasley.

"Good evening, Mr. Simply Potter," she upped the ante, flashing a 32-tooth smile. God is she gorgeous. Says I, the barely 14-year old youngster with absolutely no experience in the opposite sex whatsoever. And that smooth, silky, sweet voice... How old is she? 20? 21? Waaay to old for you and waaay our of your league, Potter! Let go of her hand before she hexes you to Jupiter and back!

She winked at me, and her hair briefly took the exact shade of my black. Brilliant. Now I will have the exact opposite of a nightmare. Damn you, teenage hormones!

"What can we do for you, Mr. Potter?" Kingsley inquired, summoning a small notebook and a Quick-Quote Quill from the depth of his Auror robe.

"Senior Auror Shacklebolt," I stressed his rank, looking straight into the Headmaster 's eyes, after having cast another "Sonorus" on myself, "I would like to report one count of attempted murder, one count of conspiracy to murder, and multiple counts of willful neglect as to the well-being of several minors placed under one's magical guardianship." When I saw that angry flash in Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes and heard the collective "oooh" of the 500+ souls present in the Great Hall, I knew my poison arrow had reached its target. Dumbledore unexpectedly grabbed my elbow and directed me out of the Great Hall, toward the antechamber, the Aurors, McGonagall and Flitwick following us. Passing Bouillabaisse Girl, her glance shocked me, but only for a moment. A furtive glance, nothing else, a mixture of approval and respect.


	2. Chapter 2

The antechamber – the same room where I, together with the other first-year students, stood three years ago waiting to be sorted – had now only one round table seating the eight of us. Apart from three magical Bluebell lights floating above the table, it was dark inside and the sound of the last shuffling feet died away in the background – the Prefects had led the students back to their dorms as the feast had come to an end. An elf had been summoned to bring in some light refreshments for the two Aurors and a minute of pregnant silence fell. Bookended by Flitwick from the right and Simply Tonks from the left, I sat straight in the rather uncomfortable chair, curiously watching the other adults around the table.

Kingsley thoughtfully sipped from the amber liquid in his crystal glass – Muggle Scotch on the rocks, I guessed – while Tonks made short work of her Butterbeer, clicking appreciatively with her tongue. McGonagall fidgeted nervously in her chair, her stern glance firmly set on me. Bagman and Crouch heatedly discussed something I couldn't make out even from the three feet distance separating us, furiously whispering into each others' ears. The twinkle having left Dumbledore's eyes long ago, his scrutinizing glance was in vain trying to catch mine as if he were trying to pull out of my mind what I was playing at.

Having set his empty glass down, the black wizard turned to his notebook again.

"I'm now opening the inquiry into the accusations made by one Harry James Potter of Godric's Hollow toward one or more not yet identified persons on the 31st of October, 1994." The Quick-Quote Quill diligently scratched away at his words. "What are your accusations, Mr. Potter?"

I would just as well have preferred Harry, simply Harry, but it was an official inquiry, one that I had requested. So I just went with it. I took a deep breath and considered phraseology.

"I accuse of one or more persons to have put my name into the Goblet of Fire as a candidate for the Triwizard Tournament. This person or persons must have been of age or otherwise skilled enough to thwart the age line of 17 years the Headmaster had put around the Goblet to prevent underage students from entering the Tournament. I have already sworn a Wizarding oath that I hadn't entered myself and here I am, alive and kicking and with my magic still present."

I took a sip of my tea to moisten my dry throat. Then, suddenly, that tiny little light bulb went off, you know, the one you see in cartoons and comic books.

"The last Triwizard Tournament one hundred and seventy five years ago was cancelled when all three participants died in the first task. So, you see, the someone that had entered me into this Tournament must have been hoping that I would die as well..."

"But surely, my boy," the jovial voice of Ludo Bagman broke my train of thoughts, "you surely dreamed of participating? Think of the honour, the attention, the flashlights?"

"Mr... Bagman, is it?" Trying to play the scared fourteen-year old here, with much success, I must add, being the same scared fourteen-year old. "You honestly don't think that a fourth-year student like I am could ever dream of surviving whatever tasks you might have thought up, let alone win this Tournament against seventeen-year old, of age wizards and witches, each the best of the best in their respective schools?"

"Well, you did vanquish You-know-who, my boy, not a minor thing in itself," Bagman retorted.

"Ludo, back to the point, please," a clearly irritated Crouch – who must have been hoping to be at home an hour ago – cut him short. My opening.

"So yes, lacking three years of academic schooling in comparison to the real champions, I would have had no real chances in the Tournament and would most probably have lost my live. That's why I call this 'attempted murder'. Furthermore," now I was on the roll spewing bullshit, "what with the Triwizard Cup being an ancient object with very strong magic, it must have been someone with equally strong magic who had managed to make the Cup accept my name."

Kingsley looked at me with clear interest and the quill stopped half-way in the sentence.

"Mr. Crouch," I turned to the elderly wizard, "what is the proper way for someone to enter his name in the contest?"

"The candidate must write out his full name and the school he is representing on a piece of parchment in his own handwriting, Mr. Potter."

"Brilliant. Headmaster, could I see the parchment you have read my name from, please?"

Dumbledore reached into his robe and produced a few scraps of parchment. Fleur, Viktor, Cedric. "I... I'm afraid I can't seem to find yours, Harry." The ancient wizard was clearly at a loss.

"Senior Auror Shacklebolt, could you please add one count of what the Muggles would call 'tampering with evidence', please? So let me get it right: someone wants me dead and enters me into the Tournament, the Cup spits out my name and my esteemed Headmaster doesn't even think it appropriate to try to find out what has happened? Was there a school written under my name on that scrap of parchment, Headmaster?"

"If we can wait two minutes, we can all review my memory of the event. I happen to have a Pensieve in my study that we can use for this occasion," Dumbledore offered, summoning the same elf that had brought in the refreshments a few minutes prior.

The elf returned shortly with a huge stone bowl that had been placed in the centre of the table. Dumbledore drew his wand and placed the tip against his temple. Murmuring a short incantation, he slowly drew the tip away from his skin pulling a silvery strand of... something what it seemed straight out of his head. Directing this something above the bowl, he let it drop onto the stone surface. Upon making contact, the strand turned into a silvery, opaque, misty substance swirling around in the basin.

Dumbledore's wand tapped the Pensieve on a particular spot; I vaguely recognized a small drawing carved into the surface of the stone that I had seen Hermione draw in her Ancient Runes homework a few weeks ago. Sowilo: Sun, Power, but also Victory, she translated it. Were it not of the same shape as the thrice blasted scar on my forehead, I would have considered it cool.

The mist in the bowl coalesced into a three-dimensional shape and we watched the events from Dumbledore's perspective once again. One, two, three scraps of parchment, then the blue flames in the Cup die away. Half a minute later the flames reappear and a fourth piece of parchment is being spewed out of the memory – Dumbledore's eyes – zoom in onto it. HARRY POTTER. All capitals, no middle name, no school. It's not in my handwriting, either.

"There you have it, it's not my handwriting!" I screamed out, seeking agreement in the eyes of my teachers. Both McGonagall and Flitwick nodded approvingly; of course they had been reading my essays for three straight years and were painfully familiar with what I would call 'my handwriting'.

"Barty," Dumbledore turned to Crouch. "You saw it for yourself. Can Mr. Potter's entry be considered valid under these circumstances?"

"The rules are clear, ladies and gentlemen," the wizard nodded. "While, formally, the piece of parchment, with the help of which Mr. Potter's entrance into the tournament had been gained, didn't meet the requirements, the final decision as to which applicants will be chosen as Champions lies solely with the Goblet. I am afraid that Mr. Potter has no choice but to compete. Failure to do so would result in him losing his magic; being chosen as Triwizard Champion constitutes a magically binding contract."

Just fucking brilliant. I slammed my fist onto the table and stand. My words addressed Kingsley, but my eyes were fixed on Dumbledore and all present at the table saw it. "And here is, Senior Auror Shacklebolt, the remaining topic of the evening. As Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the magical guardian of all Muggle-born and Muggle-raised students, I accuse him of willful neglect as to the well-being of a minor placed under his magical guardianship. Again. As he had done regularly in the past three years. I will now let you work out the minor details and bid you all a good night."

I pushed my chair back and, deliberately slowly, so that my trembling legs wouldn't give in, walked out of the antechamber, across the eerily empty Great Hall, towards the steps leading to Gryffindor Tower. Shocked silence followed my steps.

And then, the sound of a loud thump! and a few selected cusswords in a young female voice interlaced with pain.

"Oh, it's you, Miss Simply Tonks? Are you all right?" I turned around and rushed to the young Auror, who was sitting on the cold stone floor wincing painfully and massaging her aching knee. She glared me for a second, but accepted my hand nevertheless and I pulled her up from her sitting position. For a girl, erm... a young woman, her grip was surprisely strong. Auror training-strong, I guessed.

"Damn my clumsiness," she spat, casting a minor Healing charm at her knee. "I had to retake my Stealth exam at the Academy twice. "

"I think I remember you, Tonks," I said, "you were a seventh-year Puff when I came to Hogwarts. And a Chaser, a damn good one, if my memory serves me well. Shame you had no real Seeker that year."

"Ah, the good old Hogwarts times... Quidditch matches, Hogsmeade Saturdays at Madame Puddifoot's Pink Fluffy Heaven, broom closets..." She winked at me and I felt my face flush red. She laughed at my uneasiness – she did have a deep, melodious voice that would not have misstood in a Muggle popgroup with some weird name like Molotov Jukebox or whatnot.

"Come on, cousin, don't tell me you haven't yet discovered all the fun a faraway, dimly lit corridor with a long-forgotten broom closet can provide to the young heart?" She cackled again - rather pleasantly, I should say - clearly enjoying my ever-growing embarrassment.

"Cousin?" Now I was intrigued. Am I related somehow to this gorgeous woman with the heart-shaped face and hideous pink hair? "Pray tell!" I grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the closest empty - Ravenclaw - table, pulling two chairs. I couldn't tell why I felt so at ease with someone I had met less than half an hour ago, strange as it was; I just did. Quite possibly because we didn't have a history together.

"Well," she started, "many – in fact almost all – Wizarding families are interlinked by marriage. My Mum, Andromeda, is a Black by birth." I gasped, the small intermezzo not getting past her trained Auror senses. "She has two sisters, Narcissa and Bellatrix. Cissy is a Malfoy now, so young Draco is my direct cousin. Aunt Bella is enjoying an extended stay at Hotel Azkaban as the former right-hand of You-know-who."

Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant. "Do I have to worry about you wearing the Dark Mark on your forearm?"

"A good question that I myself would have asked in your place. Constant Vigilance and all that jazz," she cackled again. "Mum had married a Muggle, so her family cast her out and disinherited her, even burning her and me off the family tree tapestry. But, I agree with you, it is quite an illustrious bunch of folks, what with Aunt Bella mad as fuck and Sirius, the mass murderer. He's the three sisters' cousin. Your paternal grandmother was also born a Black – my beloved Granny's half-sister - until she had married into the Potter family. So that makes us what, half-cousins twice removed, I guess?"

"Thank you for the short lesson, milady," I nodded, my eyes twinkling with mirth. "It's just prudent that I return the favour with a favour." She tilted her head not unlike Hedwig, her inquisitive gaze resting at my face. I pulled my chair closer to her and whispered into her ear, "Sirius Black is not a mass murderer. He's my Godfather and spent twelve years at Hotel Azkaban as an innocent man."

I did silently pray that this ability of mine to render beautiful women utterly speechless with a few nonchalantly spoken words would stay with me, well into my adulthood, if I will ever have one.

Half an hour later, when I finished my tale and she unexpectedly grabbed me and planted a firm smooch at my cheek, I was still of the same opinion.

"I knew that!" she exclaimed happily, her voice eerily reverberating in the dark and empty Great Hall. "I always liked him; he used to come over a lot to play with his 'favourite niece', as he would say. I have never believed he would betray your folks, Harry; he was effectively living at your dad's ever since he'd been cast out of the family."

"Yeah, he told me so. It's just... so hard... it's been thirteen years today..." I examined my fingers, my hands resting on my lap, so that she couldn't see the tears collecting in my eyes. Very gently, she put her hand around my shoulder and gently squeezed it, but said nothing. Words are superfluous on these occasions as the dead can't be brought back with them, and as to empty "I'm sorry's", well, I've had my fair share with them. So, I just relaxed into her comforting hug that did more good than ten thousand of those "I'm sorry's".

I wiped my eyes after a minute or so and looked into her eyes now mirroring my own, startled. "Come again? How'd you do that?"

"Tsk, tsk," she playfully wiggled her finger in front of my face. "That would be telling now, wouldn't it? A woman should never give out her secrets, my dear cousin."

"Okay, Nymphadora..."

"You seem to forget, that I'm a fully trained Auror, Mr. Potter..." she nonchalantly toyed with her wand and I gulped. Aurors are supposed to be professionals, unlike the average Bobby from the street, rather like a detective, and this one was one from Moody's class having graduated with flying colours. Don't try your luck, Potter, was the warning I sent to myself.

A loud "meouw" – a telltale sign of Mrs. Norris lurking somewhere nearby in the darkness - suddenly reminded me of how late it actually was. I knew curfew was already in place and I should have been in my own four-poster at least half an hour ago, but damn if I go back to my own dorm to listen to the traitor's snoring, like ever. I carefully voiced my opinion to Tonks.

"I think I might just have the perfect solution for you, cuz,' she smiled a radiant smile at me, for some strange reason curling my toes. She stood, immediately tripping over her own chair and releasing a few more selected cusswords one would never find in the Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Pulling me up from my own chair and leading the way towards the staircase, she stopped for a brief moment, quickly puling her wand and shooting a quick jinx into the darkness. " _Confundus_."

"I'm not a cat person, Harry," she explained into my ear, her hot breath sending pleasant shivers down my spine. "I've been evading that damned car seven years long, but honestly, she has seriously outlived herself." Rushing up the stairs and turning a few times into corridors, the presence of which I had never been aware of – and in all honestly Dad, Sirius and Lupin mustn't have been either as they didn't light up on my cherished Map when I consulted it – we shortly arrived at the seventh floor. She led me towards an ugly painting and walked past it three times. To my greatest surprise a door started to form where mere moments ago only a blank wall stood.

Tonks quickly pulled me into a hug, her well-formed assets pressed firmly against me. I sneaked my arms around her, too, hoping she wouldn't me hex into next week for this small liberty. Here I was, hugging a newly found family member, who just happened to be a gorgeous young woman, and my crappy life suddenly seemed a little less crappy.

"In you go," she lovingly brushed my hair, lightly kissing my forehead. "Sleep tight. It was really nice meeting you in person."  
I hesitantly let go of her, effectively ending one of the best moments – if not the best moment - in my entire life. I pulled the door open and cast a return glance at her. "Likewise, Tonks. Good night. And... thanks."

"Expect to see more of me soon, cuz," she waved at me, pulling her wand and Disillusioning herself, and off she went. I still stood rooted there, in front of that mysterious door, her sudden double entendre sending various thoughts through my mind. But hey, who was I to complain? I gained family, a new friend, and – being a trained Auror - quite possibly someone who could teach me a thing or two in preparation to this blasted Tournament I had been forced into in order to survive.

I entered through the doorway into the mysterious room and was just about to pull the door close when a loud bang was heard from the corridor, followed by a painful hiss. I guessed Tonks' kneecap didn't like her repeated encounter with the thousand-year old marble floor.


End file.
